Post by Matt James on Apr 16, 2009 12:51:16 GMT
Account of my days as a telegraph messenger boy
in Shrewsbury from 1939 to 1943
My fourteenth birthday was in March 1939, and I left school at Easter. My first job was as an office boy in the foreman’s office of a timber and builders’ supply yard, but I had only been there two or three weeks when a letter came asking me to go for an interview at the Post Office, for a telegraph messenger’s job. In those days, if you wanted to work for the Post Office, you had to put your name down while you were still at school. I’d had my name down since I was nine or ten. I think about twelve boys were interviewed for two vacancies. I got one of them, and I started the next Monday.
On our first day, we two new boys began with a talk from the Inspector about the job and what was expected of us. We were then issued with a belt and pouch, rule book and arm band and sent out on a couple of trips with one of the more experienced messengers. To start with we were on probation to ensure that our work was satisfactory, and our rank was ‘Temporary Boy Messenger’. I was called a ‘holiday sub’. After about six weeks a vacancy came up for a permanent position when one of the older boys turned eighteen and moved on to become either a postman or a sorter. I was made up in his place.
As a temporary, I had been wearing my own clothes with a Post Office arm band, but now I was permanent, I was measured up for a uniform and also issued with my own bike. The bikes were painted red and were very strong and heavy. They had just a single gear, quite a low one.
My uniform arrived pretty quickly. It was summertime, and I was issued with a pair of black shoes to go with it. For bad weather we had boots, a waterproof cape and leggings and a short, thick topcoat we called a ‘bum starver’. We were expected to wear a white shirt and black tie. To complete my attire, I received a cap and brass breast badges: I was now Boy Messenger No T15.
There were about twenty messenger boys, working in shifts which rotated every week. The first shift started at 8am and the last finished at 9pm, so you might work 8am to 4pm, or 9am to 5pm, 10am to 6pm and so on. There were also split duties, which no one liked, when you might have to work 9am to 1pm and then 5pm to 9pm. On Sundays, two boys did 9am to 11am. Before each shift, we had to polish our leather belts, pouches and shoes with black boot polish, and brass buttons and badges with Brasso.
Our wages at age fourteen were ten shillings (50p) a week with fourpence stoppages: one penny for the union, one penny for the hospital fund (remember there was no NHS!) and two pennies for unemployment and sickness. We got a raise at each birthday.
From about July 1939 with the threat of war we started to get very busy; by August, we were taking out mobilization telegrams to reservists and territorials. On Sunday 3rd September 1939 traffic was very heavy and I was on duty, as were most of us, when a message came down from the telegraph office to say that we were at war.
Shrewsbury was a garrison town and after war broke out, we got even busier. Of course, people would become nervous when we knocked on the door with a telegram, and we were often asked to read it out to them. Most telegrams were not bad news, but two particular memories stand out in my mind.
A few weeks after the war began, I had to tell a lady that her husband had been killed. Her husband had been aboard the warship Royal Oak which had been sunk off Scappa Flow in October 1939, just about five weeks into the war. She was so very upset that I fetched a neighbour to look after her. I think her husband was the first casualty in Shrewsbury. If a fourteen-year-old was put in this situation today, I suppose they would be offered counseling. In those days, we just had to get on with it.
That was the first of those sort of telegrams, but it wasn’t the worst. I was the eldest of three children. My father had served in the First World War; I think that’s where he contracted Tb. When I was seven, my parents became too ill to look after us – they later died – and my brother, sister and I went to live with our maternal grandfather and step-grandmother. My mother’s brother, Uncle Sid, also lived with us. He was a sergeant in the Shropshire Royal Horse Artillery territorials, and had fought in the First World War. A few days before the Second World War began , he had been called up and was soon seeing action with the British Expeditionary Force. He was evacuated through Dunkirk.
One day in 1941, the Inspector gave me a telegram for my granddad. It was to say that Uncle Sid had been killed. The Inspector told me take it on my own bike, and to call at the Maltings Barracks on the way. Another of my uncles was Commanding Officer there.
When I gave Granddad the telegram, I told him what was in it. I remember that he went to the bathroom and was violently sick. The Inspector had told me not to report back to the office, so I stayed at home for the rest of the day.
During the war, the Post Office had its own Home Guard Unit, which I joined when I was sixteen. Many of the postmen in those days were ex time-served military men, so we had a good unit and we younger lads were given some excellent training, which stood me in good stead later. I rose to the rank of corporal, with two red stripes on my arm. When I made deliveries to a barracks or to army offices, I was addressed as ‘Corporal’.
When I was eighteen, I joined the army and saw service in Normandy and the Far East. I got to be a corporal again, but that’s another story. I didn’t go back to the Post Office after I was demobbed because I didn’t fancy nights and shift work – but they were great days.
Author: Jim Backhouse, Shrewsbury, Shropshire. Aged 82. 2008
in Shrewsbury from 1939 to 1943
My fourteenth birthday was in March 1939, and I left school at Easter. My first job was as an office boy in the foreman’s office of a timber and builders’ supply yard, but I had only been there two or three weeks when a letter came asking me to go for an interview at the Post Office, for a telegraph messenger’s job. In those days, if you wanted to work for the Post Office, you had to put your name down while you were still at school. I’d had my name down since I was nine or ten. I think about twelve boys were interviewed for two vacancies. I got one of them, and I started the next Monday.
On our first day, we two new boys began with a talk from the Inspector about the job and what was expected of us. We were then issued with a belt and pouch, rule book and arm band and sent out on a couple of trips with one of the more experienced messengers. To start with we were on probation to ensure that our work was satisfactory, and our rank was ‘Temporary Boy Messenger’. I was called a ‘holiday sub’. After about six weeks a vacancy came up for a permanent position when one of the older boys turned eighteen and moved on to become either a postman or a sorter. I was made up in his place.
As a temporary, I had been wearing my own clothes with a Post Office arm band, but now I was permanent, I was measured up for a uniform and also issued with my own bike. The bikes were painted red and were very strong and heavy. They had just a single gear, quite a low one.
My uniform arrived pretty quickly. It was summertime, and I was issued with a pair of black shoes to go with it. For bad weather we had boots, a waterproof cape and leggings and a short, thick topcoat we called a ‘bum starver’. We were expected to wear a white shirt and black tie. To complete my attire, I received a cap and brass breast badges: I was now Boy Messenger No T15.
There were about twenty messenger boys, working in shifts which rotated every week. The first shift started at 8am and the last finished at 9pm, so you might work 8am to 4pm, or 9am to 5pm, 10am to 6pm and so on. There were also split duties, which no one liked, when you might have to work 9am to 1pm and then 5pm to 9pm. On Sundays, two boys did 9am to 11am. Before each shift, we had to polish our leather belts, pouches and shoes with black boot polish, and brass buttons and badges with Brasso.
Our wages at age fourteen were ten shillings (50p) a week with fourpence stoppages: one penny for the union, one penny for the hospital fund (remember there was no NHS!) and two pennies for unemployment and sickness. We got a raise at each birthday.
From about July 1939 with the threat of war we started to get very busy; by August, we were taking out mobilization telegrams to reservists and territorials. On Sunday 3rd September 1939 traffic was very heavy and I was on duty, as were most of us, when a message came down from the telegraph office to say that we were at war.
Shrewsbury was a garrison town and after war broke out, we got even busier. Of course, people would become nervous when we knocked on the door with a telegram, and we were often asked to read it out to them. Most telegrams were not bad news, but two particular memories stand out in my mind.
A few weeks after the war began, I had to tell a lady that her husband had been killed. Her husband had been aboard the warship Royal Oak which had been sunk off Scappa Flow in October 1939, just about five weeks into the war. She was so very upset that I fetched a neighbour to look after her. I think her husband was the first casualty in Shrewsbury. If a fourteen-year-old was put in this situation today, I suppose they would be offered counseling. In those days, we just had to get on with it.
That was the first of those sort of telegrams, but it wasn’t the worst. I was the eldest of three children. My father had served in the First World War; I think that’s where he contracted Tb. When I was seven, my parents became too ill to look after us – they later died – and my brother, sister and I went to live with our maternal grandfather and step-grandmother. My mother’s brother, Uncle Sid, also lived with us. He was a sergeant in the Shropshire Royal Horse Artillery territorials, and had fought in the First World War. A few days before the Second World War began , he had been called up and was soon seeing action with the British Expeditionary Force. He was evacuated through Dunkirk.
One day in 1941, the Inspector gave me a telegram for my granddad. It was to say that Uncle Sid had been killed. The Inspector told me take it on my own bike, and to call at the Maltings Barracks on the way. Another of my uncles was Commanding Officer there.
When I gave Granddad the telegram, I told him what was in it. I remember that he went to the bathroom and was violently sick. The Inspector had told me not to report back to the office, so I stayed at home for the rest of the day.
During the war, the Post Office had its own Home Guard Unit, which I joined when I was sixteen. Many of the postmen in those days were ex time-served military men, so we had a good unit and we younger lads were given some excellent training, which stood me in good stead later. I rose to the rank of corporal, with two red stripes on my arm. When I made deliveries to a barracks or to army offices, I was addressed as ‘Corporal’.
When I was eighteen, I joined the army and saw service in Normandy and the Far East. I got to be a corporal again, but that’s another story. I didn’t go back to the Post Office after I was demobbed because I didn’t fancy nights and shift work – but they were great days.
Author: Jim Backhouse, Shrewsbury, Shropshire. Aged 82. 2008